Dearborn's Last Months
by PrewettSong
Summary: Caradoc Dearborn's last months on the run from the Death Eaters. Now complete, please read & review!
1. Chapter 1

The summer night was hot and still, with no breeze to ease the almost suffocating heat. There was no sound; it could easily be believed that the crickets were too parched to chirp. The leaves on the trees drooped slightly, crying out for water, any water, just enough so that they could survive…

There was a loud crack, and where there had been no one a few moments before stood a tall man in a long dark cloak. His hood was thrown over his head, shadowing half of his face. Had anyone looked at him, all they would have seen were a pair of lips in a straight line and the small glimmer of light his eyes reflected. For a moment he just stood there, blending into the silent background.

The quiet scene was interrupted by a shout and raucous laughter from a nearby tavern and the man's eyes flicked to the sign above the door. He strode towards the door and opened it a crack.

The interior of the tavern was dimly light, and the walls were stained with spilled drinks as well as something darker that looked suspiciously like blood. The tall figure opened the door a little wider and slipped in, closing the door behind him.

He walked slowly between the crowded tables, lowering his hood as he went. Avoiding a table of particularly drunken men, he made his way to the counter. The bartender hardly looked up at his approach, and when he finally stood across from him he leaned on his crossed arms over the counter. "What can I get for yeh?"

"Just water, if you don't mind." The bartender raised his eyebrows at the request, it being something he was rarely asked for. The man made eye contact, and they stared at each other for a while before he finally spoke again. "Sometime tonight, if you don't mind. I have a ways to go yet." The bartender straightened and walked into the back.

The bartender finally returned, the grimy glass in his hand filled with water. The man took it without a word and nodded his thanks. When the bartender turned to help a young customer who appeared to be drowning his sorrows in drink, the tall man pulled a long, dark wand out of his cloak pocket and tapped the glass, effectively cleaning as well as purifying the water. He lifted it to his lips and drank slowly, savoring the cool clearness.

Through the door came another two men, splitting up as they crossed the threshold. They walked slowly around the tables, examining each man to see if he was the one they were searching for. The man leaning on the wall by the counter slowly drew his hood up over his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined the newcomers.

The first of the two was no more than thirty with a short stocky body. His eyes were a shady grey-blue in color, his long brown hair tied back with a ragged dark grey ribbon. His dark clothing blended in with the dim lighting and stained background. His hand continually lingered by his pocket, and when he turned just so the man sipping his water could see the handle of a wand. This was Evan Rosier, and the man smiled grimly. He would enjoy taking him down a notch.

The other man was slightly taller than his companion, though still quite stocky. His black hair was mussed and uneven, somewhat like James Potter's, but the two could never be mixed up. Whereas James' demeanor was cocky and clever, this man looked as though he could put two and two together and come up with five. His eyes were squinted and his face screwed up in an almost permanent scowl. This man was Marty McWhorter, an unintelligent bully with no common sense. If Voldemort thought he was a good person to send on such a mission, he was in the wrong. However, if he was trying to be rid of this brainless lout, that was a completely different situation.

The drunken men at a nearby table broke out into a drinking song, and Rosier spared them an irritated glance, his fingers twitching towards his wand. All it would take was a few muttered words and those dullards would have sung their last chorus. His gaze traveled upward and he saw the cloaked man leaning on the wall, swirling his water around in his glass. He saw the lips curve in an unfriendly smile and the stranger lifted his hood with two fingers, showing this entire face, complete with a mocking wink in his direction.

He caught his companion's attention with a wave of his hand and turned again to the shadowy figure, but he was gone. His glass sat on the counter, the liquid inside it still in motion. As he drew closer, he noticed fresh marks in the graffiti covered wall. _Nice try._ Rosier pounded the wall in frustration with a closed fist.

"Why'd y'do that? What'd the wall ever do t'you?" his companion asked, and Rosier took a deep breath, pinching the skin between his brows. Why the Dark Lord thought McWhorter was a good choice for this mission, he would never know.

Caradoc Dearborn, his ear pressed to the wall so as to listen to whatever the two Death Eaters had to say, grinned at McWhorter's foolish comment. He pulled back from the wall and made as if to leave when he heard a noise from above him. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he looked up for the source of the noise.

A story above him, someone had opened a window and was now poking their head out into the hot night air. She was a woman, a little younger than himself, with her sun-streaked brown hair messily pulled back. She wore a shirt that was rather to big for her and she had brown wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She peered down at him curiously. "What are you doing out at this time of night?" she called quietly.

Caradoc gestured to the building he had just exited, pushing his hood back off of his face. "Surely it's not a surprise seeing people come and go from a tavern like this," he called back. She smiled at him. "Not really, but I think I have a right to be surprised when a wizard appears in a Muggle tavern just out of the blue, wouldn't you agree?"

To say in the least, he was surprised by her answer. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he lied with a laugh. "Had a spot too much to drink, I'd say."

She just shook her head. "That's hardly the case; I actually have a nephew with magical blood." When Caradoc gave her a bemused look, she smiled at him once again. "Fine, pretend I'm drunk. What are you doing with your ear pressed to a wall?"

"I've found that drunken men's conversations are an endless source of amusement and came for the entertainment."

"Sure you have. You're not here trying to escape two rather hostile looking men, then? They're searching for someone who's just disappeared, and to those inside you've obviously left."

Caradoc smiled again. He was enjoying this witty banter to no end. This stranger was quite clever with her words, and the last time he'd really held a conversation with someone it had been a frantic Order member babbling on about safety precautions. The bartender inside didn't count in his mind since he had been terribly dull, blunt and uninteresting. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. Would you mind me asking your name, miss?"

She crossed her arms and leaned on them in a casual, comfortable manner. "I'm Sarah Burns. What's yours?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you, it may be a hazard to your safety."

"Don't worry, if it's dangerous I'll just avoid the Death Eater blokes downstairs and come with you. If that's alright with you," she added the last part hastily, and Caradoc was touched by the thought that maybe he wouldn't want her to come along. On the contrary, he quite often got lonely while traveling for the Order and fleeing dim-witted Death Eaters.

"I mean it's perfectly alright if you don't want me to come along, we did just meet and you only recently learned my name. It's a bit silly, I suppose, we've never even spoken face to face, just from this window, we're practically strangers, and maybe I should just-"

"My name's Caradoc Dearborn. I'd love to have you along, but I must warn you that my life is far from fun." Sarah blinked, and then gave a small smile.

"I'll just get my stuff together then." She disappeared from the window, and Caradoc stood alone in the night once more.

He leaned up against the side of the tavern and waited for Sarah to come outside. He glanced at his watch, examining the positioning of the little planets and symbols around its edge for a moment before lowering it, having evidently read the time.

He heard the door of the tavern swing open and the sound of quiet footsteps following the wall and soon he stood face to face with his new traveling companion.

She had hastily packed a bag with any essentials she may need, and also changed out of her sleepwear. She wore a black jogging coat under a dark brown and olive green camouflage coat with holey jeans and hiking boots. Around her hips was a belt with a holster and an expensive looking handgun. Sarah noticed his eyes on her gun and explained herself. "I know Muggle weapons may not be of much use against a wizard with a wand, but I can use a gun and I will if it comes to that. I feel better knowing I can somewhat protect myself and maybe buy you some time if needs be."

Caradoc raised his eyebrows, rather surprised that she had thought to bring a weapon of any kind, and more surprised that she could use it. Apparently there was more to Sarah Burns that met the eye. She shifted slightly under his gaze and said "So where are we off to?"

"Wherever you'd like, my dear. No one is currently chasing us so we can go anywhere you please. But, before we go anywhere-"Caradoc pulled out his wand and tapped her pack with it, shrinking it so that it easily fit in her pocket. "Much better. We can't have you tiring yourself out too much, can we?" Sarah smiled at him again. "Thank you."

"Anytime, so which direction shall we go, friend?" Sarah closed her eyes and spun around, her arm sticking straight out. When she finished spinning, she took a moment to clear her head and then looked at him. "How about this way?"

Caradoc laughed at her interesting way to find a direction to walk in before slinging an arm around her shoulders and walking that way. Sarah was a little taken aback by the close contact, but settled into it soon enough. Caradoc was the first one to initiate any kind of conversation. "So Sarah, how are you involved in this crazy, messed up, magical world of mine?"

She thought for a moment before speaking. "My nephew goes to Hogwarts, my poor brother received a bit of a shock when he discovered his wife was capable of magic. He's a good boy, seventeen years old, studious, gets along with his classmates."

"Any idea what house he's in?"

"Yes, actually, he writes me quite often to let me know how he's doing. He's in Gryffindor, and quite proud of that fact. He says his favorite subject is Transfiguration, even though the teacher can be a bit stern."

"Ah, yes, Minerva McGonagall tends to give that impression." Caradoc observed.

"So you know her, then?" Sarah asked with interest. She loved hearing about her nephew's school; the very idea of it simply enthralled her. Caradoc noticed her enthusiasm and didn't deprive her of the knowledge he had.

"Oh yes, we're in a fighting group against You-Know-Who." He noticed her look of confusion and said "I don't suppose you know who that is?"

Sarah shrugged her shoulders, moving his arm a bit with the small motion. "Stephen - my nephew - doesn't really mention him all that much. I know he's done terrible things and that his followers are called Death Eaters, but that's the extent of my knowledge. Could you fill me in?" Her last question was laced with uncertainty. Perhaps he didn't want to speak of this man, this Dark wizard. The subject might be too painful or frightening for him. To her relief, Caradoc showed no signs of being tormented by the subject and launched into an explanation.

"You-Know-Who is a very powerful Dark wizard. He's explored many realms of black magic and created terrible spells of his own, most of them meant for inflicting torture. He's merciless, and sometimes a man just has to wonder if he's human at all, his mind's just so twisted that it's impossible to be sure.

He's killed a large number of people, some of them I knew, some of them I didn't. The most recent victims were Edward Bones and his family. He killed them all - even his teenage son, who was no more of a threat than a fly on a wall – without even an ounce of compassion."

Sarah looked up into her tall companion's dark, handsome face, and she saw tear tracks glittering on the cold moonlight. Speaking of the deaths of a man and a family he obviously knew was causing him pain, but he continued speaking.

"He's got to be stopped, or this will just keep going on. People will keep dying, being tortured, if we don't do something. That's what the group I'm in is doing, trying to fight this man and his followers, the Death Eaters, so that this insanity can come to an end."

Sarah skipped a step ahead so that she could turn and face him. Tears were now flowing freely down his handsome face, the drops of salt water dripping onto his collar. She took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently, trying to offer some form of support. She looked into his dark brown eyes, which were gazing at a point above her head, and spoke softly.

"Caradoc," she began, the strange name feeling foreign as it fell from her mouth. "What you and these other members of whatever group you're in are doing is amazing, remarkable, wonderful, and so many other things. It's astounding that people are standing up to this wizard, and that you are one of those people. It shows that anything can happen, even in the darkest of times. What you're doing is inspiring, and don't ever forget that every little bit helps." Sarah took his face in her hands and pulled it down towards her so that she could kiss his forehead, then she let go and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

For a long moment Caradoc did not respond to her actions. Finally, he wrapped his arms around her as well, burying his face in her hair. He let the tears fall from his eyes as he let out some of the pain he had been holding in, pain he had thought was gone but wasn't. It would never be truly gone.

Sarah wasn't sure how long they stood there, Caradoc silently weeping into her hair while she offered him what little support she could. Time passed and Caradoc's tears subsided. He took a deep breath and stepped back wiping his face with his arm. Sarah watched him intently for a moment until he nodded briskly and started walking again. She fell in step beside him.

After a few minutes of quiet, their feet crunching the dry grass, she said quietly "If you get so upset about talking about him, you didn't have to tell me." Caradoc looked down at her and smiled.

"I know. I wanted you to know what you're up against when you're with me." He paused, concern filling his dark brown eyes. "If you don't want to travel with me anymore, I can take you back to the tavern-"Sarah interrupted him quickly.

"I want to come. If you're fighting him, then so am I. I want to help keep my nephew's world safe, if possible." Caradoc smiled again.

"Anything's possible, Sarah." She smiled, too. They continued to speak of anything and everything, unaware that they were being watched by unfriendly eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N- Hey y'all, this is my first multi-chapter fic and only my second work overall, so please read & review! I'd like to point out that there will be no romance between Caradoc and Sarah, just so you know. Please tell me what you think!_

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the mastermind behind Harry Potter, I own absolutely nothing!**

Caradoc and Sarah had been traveling for a total of five days without any trouble from the Death Eaters, a new record. They had also learned quite a lot about each other and, in Sarah's case, about the Wizarding world.

Sarah had told Caradoc how she wanted to be an architect a few years ago, but eventually gave up on the idea because no one was interested in hiring. She had visited with her brother's family for quite a while before coming to the tavern, where she had been temporarily working as a barmaid. When she'd seen Caradoc out of her window that night, she had gladly jumped at the chance to get away and have an adventure.

Caradoc, in turn, told her about his times at Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, and the Order. She most enjoyed hearing about his younger days running around with his friend Edward Bones and about Albus Dumbledore, the quaint leader of the Order members.

Sarah thought that, given the chance, she would be interested in a career with taking care of magical creatures. She loved animals of all kinds, and they seemed to accept, if not enjoy, her company as well. She was intrigued by the strange names of the creatures, nifflers, Wrackspurts, Nargles, and so on.

At the moment, they were both seated around a small suspended flame, Sarah leaning her head on Caradoc's shoulder and chuckling at a story about Fabian and Gideon, twin pranksters that continually caused trouble at Hogwarts while they had been there. Caradoc had a friendly arm wrapped around her shoulders, a smile lifting his lips as he sipped his coffee.

Sarah sighed contentedly, her eyes beginning to droop. "Thanks again for letting me coming with you," she mumbled sleepily. "I'm really enjoying this."

"What, getting chased by Death Eaters?" Caradoc joked, and Sarah smiled.

"That's not what I meant, but it definitely adds some excitement. I mean spending time not having to worry about work."

"Of course, now you get to worry about your life instead. How lovely."

Sarah chuckled quietly, and then they were silent for a few minutes. Caradoc, finishing his coffee, looked at her face and saw she was asleep. He shifted himself out from under her and gently lay her camouflage coat over her body.

"How sweet," came a sneering voice from behind him. Caradoc spun around, the tin mug falling from his fingers. There was no one there. The voice continued.

"It's really quite touching, the wizard and muggle traveling together, trying to protect each other. Me, I don't see how she's useful, but I guess when a man's desperate he'll settle for anything." The voice sniggered malevolently, and Caradoc's jaw tightened. His grip on his wand constricted so that his knuckles were white. Soundlessly, he doused the flame with a wave of his wand.

"Oh, that won't help you any," said the voice. "We already know where you are."

Caradoc reached for Sarah's hand in the dark, holding it tightly when he found it. She stirred and her eyes opened. Caradoc helped her get to her feet and threw her coat over her shoulders.

"They're somewhere nearby," he murmured as she shoved her hand into her sleeve. "We've got to try and Apparate, but if we can't have your gun ready." Sarah nodded, her mind now fully functioning. Her hand tugged the small gun from its holster and she held it ready, pointing at the ground.

Caradoc held her upper arm and focused before trying to twist into the air. Nothing happened. Sarah stopped him from falling and helped him regain his balance. The voice laughed again, seeming to come from all directions.

"Nice try, nice try, though we learned from last time. Anti-Apparation wards are awfully useful, have you noticed?"

Sarah's grip tightened on the gun handle. Her voice was shaky as she called out "Where are you? If you're going to ambush someone, the least you can do is be a man and show yourself!"

The voice laughed again. "Trying to shame me I see. Dearborn, you've got one faithful muggle pet."

"I am _not_ a pet!" said Sarah furiously. Her eyes flashed with anger behind her dirty, wire-rimmed glasses, and she was trembling with rage. Caradoc placed a restraining hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off, continuing to shout and the voice continued to laugh.

"Sarah-"Caradoc started.

"_NO!" _she yelled her voice slightly hoarse as she spun to face him. "Caradoc, I am _not _going to be insulted like this! Just because I can't do magic doesn't mean I'm worthless!"

"Sarah-"

"_Don't interrupt me!"_ she cried, angry tears coursing down her face, leaving tracks on her dirty cheeks. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail, long strands falling around her face. "Just find something to Transfigure into bullets so I don't have to worry about the number of shots I have."

Caradoc stepped forwards, reaching out again to touch her arm. "Sarah, I think you need to calm down a moment and-"

"Caradoc!" she bent over, scooping some twigs up in her hand and thrusting them into his. "Change them, because I am going to prove my worth."

"Sarah," Caradoc said quietly. "This really isn't necessary-"She stepped extremely close to him, her entire being still sparking with anger. She glared at him over the top of her glasses.

"When he finally comes out, which he will, I am going to shoot. And if you don't have those ready…" She trailed off, but Caradoc didn't waver. "And if I don't have them ready?" he prompted.

"Then I'm about to get myself killed." And with that, Sarah turned around and stepped away from him before speaking out into the night with calm voice.

"Fine then, stay hidden. It's a rather disappointing thought that you, a wizard capable of magic, are afraid of a Muggle, isn't it? I'm sure Voldemort would be so _proud_, wouldn't he?"

Rosier seemed to emerge from thin air, stepping out of the darkness as easily as an actor would walk onstage. His face was a twisted mix of shock and rage. He Disarmed Caradoc with a wave of his wand before speaking to him.

"How is it that a Muggle dares to speak _his_ name?" he hissed. "How dare it even speak to a wizard in that manner? _Tell me, is this what you want? DO YOU WANT THEM ALL TO KNOW?"_ He struck the side of Caradoc's head with a clenched fist, sending him reeling. Before he could do anymore damage to the fallen man he felt cold metal pressing into the base of his scalp.

"This muggle is intelligent enough to take you by surprise, and powerful enough to seriously injure or even kill you if the mood takes her." Sarah moved herself so that she was standing in front of Rosier, the gun's barrel pushing his chin up. Her eyes were cold and merciless. "I ought to pull this trigger right now and do the world a favor, ridding it of another piece of scum."

Rosier glared at her, staring into her normally warm hazel eyes with a look of loathing. Her usually friendly face clearly expressed the rage she was feeling, the shadows defining every facial feature.

Behind them, Caradoc had risen to his feet and was watching the exchange. Seeing Sarah had the situation under control, he turned to pick up his wand. While his back was turned, Rosier brought his hand up quickly, smacking Sarah upside the head.

"How _dare _you think you had the right to touch me," he sneered. Sarah had stepped backwards off-balance, and now he pushed her roughly to the ground. He then turned to face Caradoc, hitting him with a Body-Bind Curse. Caradoc, who had been whirling around to help Sarah, froze mid-turn. Rosier turned again to the fallen Sarah.

"Now," he said, "you will pay for your arrogance." He raised his wand, pointing it directly at Sarah's chest. _"Cru-"_the rest of the spell was stopped by his scream of pain as blood dripped from a new hole in his shoulder. Sarah had managed to lift up the gun and shoot him before he finished speaking, and was now scrambling to her feet.

Caradoc, freed from Rosier's curse, grabbed his wand from the ground and ran to meet her. He grabbed her upper arm and twisted into the air, taking Sarah and himself far away from the howling Death Eater as his slow companion rushed into their campsite.

As they landed, Sarah stumbled slightly, forcing Caradoc to catch her. He spun her around and held her tightly to his chest, his heart beating erratic pattern against his ribcage. Sarah could feel the pounding through his cloak and she leaned her head against his chest. The gun fell limply from her trembling fingers, dropping to the ground as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"That," Caradoc said, speaking into her hair, "was one of the most brilliant things I've ever seen. Are you alright?" He held her at arms length, looking her up and down for any injuries.

"I think I'm okay," Sarah said shakily. Tears were slowly dripping down her face; her hair was falling into her eyes, and she looked stunned. Her clothes were disheveled and dirty from being pushed to the ground by Rosier. Her wire-rimmed glasses were perched crookedly on her nose. She looked small.

"You don't look okay," he said quietly, and she looked at the ground.

"I'm just not used to it. I'm sure it'll get better as time goes on." Caradoc held her close again, and she buried her face in his cloak. They stood there for a while, and then Sarah finally mumbled incoherently into his chest. He bent his head. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that."

"I said," she mumbled again, a little clearer this time, "that it was awfully inconsiderate of me to be doing this. I haven't even asked if you're alright." Caradoc chuckled softly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "I'm okay. Now what do you say to setting up camp and actually getting some sleep."

Sarah smiled, looking up at him. "A spot of sleep sounds positively lovely."

Caradoc had Apparated them both to a small ruined house. The stone walls sagged and the roof had partially fallen in. He set up a small lean-to against the sturdiest of the walls and warmed up some coffee for Sarah and himself to drink before bed.

"Here you go," he said, holding out a steaming cup to her blanket- wrapped figure. She reached out a small hand and smiled at him. "Careful- it's hot."

He sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She held her tin mug with both hands, blowing away the steam before taking a sip. They drank in companionable silence until Sarah finished.

"Well," she said, stretching her legs out. "I'm about ready for that rest. Good night, or morning, or whatever this is." She crawled a little further in and lay down. Soon her breathing evened out, and she was asleep.

Caradoc took a deep, shaky breath, letting out slowly. The encounter with Rosier had been much to close for his liking, and he was more shaken than he had let on. If Rosier hadn't underestimated Sarah…. He shuddered at the thought.

He looked back at the sleeping form of Sarah, her body no more than a dark silhouette, slowly rising and falling with each breath. She had done brilliantly today; there was no question about that. She had been extremely upset afterwards, though.

As he finally lay down for rest, he resolved not to put her in that position again. His final thought before he went to sleep was that she was still so young.

But if she was young, he was only older by a year or two. Sometimes he had to wonder if this, living life on the run, being forced into life-threatening situations, all of it, was worth it…


	3. Chapter 3

Caradoc awoke early the next morning, much to his body's chagrin. For a while he just lay there with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds outside the lean-to. When he heard the crunching of feet on grass and the sound of the tin coffee mugs being clanked around, he finally sat up and stretched. Sarah must already be awake, getting ready for coffee.

Caradoc crawled out of the tent on all fours, and his eyes widened at what he saw as he stood up, his hand reaching for his wand.

The temporary campsite was in shambles. The tin cups had fallen out of Sarah's backpack, and coffee grounds were strewn across the dirt. Various other items had also fallen out of the pack, littering the scene. Caradoc began to walk around for signs of attackers, hoping against hope that it had just been a curious animal, that Sarah was just finding water…

But, to his dismay, he found signs of a scuffle about ten steps out of the site. The grass had been flattened by trampling feet, and he found a dark, sticky substance that he knew to be blood, though he didn't know whose. He saw Sarah's camouflage coat lying ripped, torn, and dirty on the ground, and her handgun also lay on the ground. Caradoc checked the gun and noticed empty slots where he knew bullets had been the night before. Some had been shot, and he could only pray that Sarah had been doing the shooting.

Caradoc tore some of the bloodied grass up by the roots and rushed back to the lean-to. Packing everything up with a wave of his wand, he shrunk the pack and stuffed it into his pocket before setting the grass onto the worn stone wall. He began waving his wand in intricate ways, muttering under his breath.

He was performing an old tracking spell that Moody had taught him when he first joined the Order. At the time he had scoffed, because surely he would never need to use something so primitive as a spell that tracked someone by their _blood,_ it was just ridiculous. Moody had boxed his ears and said that one day he'd be glad he knew the spell. Who knew how right the old warrior would be?

Finally he finished, and a flickering image appeared just in front of him. Sarah was lying in a cell of some sort, a trickle of blood oozing from a small head wound. Her jeans were dirty and ripped, covered in grass stains, mud, and dry blood smears. As soon as he noticed this, she began to stir, evidently emerging from her unconscious state. Her eyes opened and she stared through cracked lenses at the stone roof of the room.

Upon realizing where she was, she tried to scramble to her feet, but no sooner had she sat up when she clapped her hands to her head. After that she moved a little slower, getting to her feet. She walked to the wooden door, peering through the bars across the small window. Suddenly the door flew open with what he assumed was a bang (the image didn't project sounds of any sort) and smacked her nose. Caradoc winced as it began to bleed, and Sarah stumbled backwards, clutching her nose.

A figure in a dark cloak strode into the room, a silver mask on his face, and grabbed her upper arms. Sarah tried to wrench his arm out of his grip, but he kept a tight hold on her, literally dragging her out the door. The scene stayed as a blank cell and Caradoc waved it away with his hand, watching fade into the wind for a moment.

What he knew was that Sarah had been captured, though he didn't know by whom. Why had she been captured? Possibly to lure him, or maybe they would ask her about the Order. He didn't know exactly where her cell was, but he could probably Apparate there, unless they had put up wards against him doing so. Whatever the case, he had to try. And with that thought, he twisted into the air.

He tumbled onto the stone floor of the cell Sarah had been in earlier, the door still open. Without hesitating, he walked to it and cautiously stuck his head into the deserted corridor. He stepped into the hallway, his wand in hand as he made his way to the stairs a short ways away. Placing his back to a wall, Caradoc stealthily began to climb the stairs.

They led to a large door made of dark wood and barred with iron and he placed his ear against it. There was no sound, and he began to search for a keyhole in case they had simply put up a Silencing Charm. He found it, and getting to his knees Caradoc peered through.

Sarah lay spread-eagled on the floor, stirring feebly. A man stood over her, his dark hair pulled back from a cruel face as he pointed his wand at her small figure. Rosier mouthed a curse, and Sarah began to writhe on the ground, her fingers scrabbling at the floor and her mouth open in a silent scream.

Caradoc could take no more. Surging to his feet, he threw all of his weight at the heavy door, immediately able to hear what was going on. Sarah had stopped screaming, and Rosier was staring at him with a knowing smile.

"Ah Caradoc," he said, and Caradoc tensed at the familiarity of first names. "How nice of you to stop by. I wondered how long it might take." Caradoc heard the creaking of hinges and the slamming of the heavy doors as the locks clicked into place. He walked forward, his knuckles white where he gripped his wand.

"Let her go," he said in a low voice, gesturing to Sarah's broken form. "She's not involved in this."

"Oh, but she is," Rosier said, speaking as he might to a small child. "When she interacted with you she became involved on this whole war. Shame," he added, inspecting her face. "She was actually rather pretty." He glanced up, gauging Caradoc's reaction.

Caradoc's vision seemed to glow red, honing in on this stocky man in front of him, and he didn't think he'd ever felt this kind of hate before, unless it had been on the site of Edward Bones' murder. Even then, it had been more of a sharp pain that could be associated with grief. But right now, he felt hatred, pure and simple.

Rosier noticed his angry reaction and quickly stooped to Sarah's barely moving form, hauling her up and placing his wand beneath her chin. "Now, now, let's not be rash. Wouldn't want to make me do something you'd regret, now would we?"

Caradoc felt a roaring, burning anger in his chest, and he almost didn't bother to contain it until he saw Sarah shift slightly in Rosier's grip. Her eyes fluttered open, just barley enough to show the whites. Rosier noticed, too, and shook her roughly, jolting her into a more awake state.

Reacting on instinct, Sarah dropped her head and bit Rosier's arm savagely, causing him to roar in pain and throw her off, sending her flying. Her glasses flew off, smashing on the floor, and she was caught by McWhorter. Caradoc hadn't even noticed he was in the room, though it must have been he who closed the door.

Caradoc immediately sent a flash of light at Rosier, who ducked under it with hardly an inch to spare. They began to circle each other, sending a variety of different colored lights and flames at each other while Sarah fought viciously with her captor.

Caradoc was fighting with the fires of rage and hatred flooding his veins, hardly aware of anything but his opponent's sneering face. He hardly flinched as a Cutting Hex slashed open his arm, ripping robes and flesh alike. Both wizards dueled furiously, each determined to slay the other. Caradoc heard Sarah's hoarse voice raise in a victorious cry as McWhorter fell and she cracked his head to the floor with her foot.

She began to run towards him and Rosier, a grim, triumphant smile on her features. He let out a laugh, though it was not a happy sound, when her eyes flicked over his shoulder to where Rosier stood and her features rearranged themselves into a grimace of fear.

Caradoc turned and time seemed to slow. Rosier had a exultant smile on his face and a green ray of light flew from his wand tip, heading straight towards Caradoc's chest. There was no way he could move in time, not in his furious state of mind. Caradoc had braced himself for the end when, just before the light hit him, he was knocked out of the way.

Everything returned to normal speed, and Sarah lay crumpled on the ground like a fallen leaf. She didn't move, she would never move again. Her hazel eyes were still open, but they were cold and empty. Dead.

A howl ripped from Caradoc throat as his mind fragmented, and he was just insane enough to be and excellent fighter. He resumed the fight with vigor, catching his opponent by surprise and driving him back. Again they fought, ripped cloaks whirling, the stone floor cracking at their feet, magic crackling through the air like electricity. Smoke rose out of the cracks at the wizard's feet, swirling around them and making it hard to see. Armageddon seemed to be contained in that one room.

Caradoc, his senses somehow enhanced by madness, noticed McWhorter stirring, and the small part of his mind that was still sane told him he needed to get out, so he did. With a spin and a crack, he was gone, leaving Rosier panting for breath and his companion groaning feebly.

Caradoc reappeared in a dark forest, the tall trees soaring upwards and blocking out the sun, but he didn't care. He cracked, tears flowing down his swarthy cheeks as he fell to his knees. His friend was gone, dead.

Sarah had been the only real friend he'd had since the death of Edward, his best friend since their first year at Hogwarts. He hadn't truly dared to get close to anyone else since, but Sarah had broken through his thin barrier against finding a companion and now…

He couldn't get the image of her limp body lying on the stone floor, dead from the curse meant for him. She had saved him, knowing what would happen when she pushed him out of the way. Caradoc thrust his hands into his hair, looking up at the sky and yelling until his voice was hoarse.

He heard a crack behind him and rose to his feet with alarming speed, grabbing Rosier by the collar of his dirtied robes and holding him above the ground, shaking him roughly.

"I swear," Caradoc growled in a raspy voice, "that I am going to send you to hell in the worst way you could ever imagine, Rosier." Rosier's eyes widened and he stared over Caradoc's shoulder, croaking in a panicky voice.

"Do it now, you fool, before he kills me!" Caradoc dropped him slightly as he turned around and his neck was suddenly trapped in McWhorter's meaty hands. There was a sharp crack, and he fell to the leafy ground, his neck snapped.

Rosier rose to his feet from where he had fallen, massaging his bruised throat with a hand as he kicked the limp body of Caradoc Dearborn.

"Let him lie there," he croaked, his throat damaged by Caradoc's tight grip. "Let him be another warning to the Order if they ever find him."

They never did.


End file.
